Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (18 page)

I raise an eyebrow.

“
Full of questions tonight, aren
’
t we?
”

She points to me.
“
Captive audience.
”

“
I don
’
t know. Until I have enough money to move somewhere else? I was able to grab some cash from my mom before I left, but I
’
m saving that for school.
”

“
I thought you didn
’
t know where your mom was?
”

I wince.
“
I don
’
t. This was cash she left behind.
”
I bend down to pick up a shell and then toss it back to the waves.
“
I may have known where she stashed it and considered it serendipitous.
”

“
So would you consider moving now if you found a place?
”

“
I
’
d consider it if I had money.
”
I throw her a side-eye.
“
Where
’
s this going, Jess? I thought you didn
’
t need my story? Feels like you
’
re fishing.
”

“
I
’
m not fishing. At least not for skeletons. I just
…
I get lonely here and I kind of want a roommate.
”
She chances a glance in my direction.
“
Everything is already paid for, Stephanie. We just need groceries.
”

Is she serious?

I think for a moment about living with someone else. I have to swallow just to keep the fear at a reasonable level. It doesn
’
t really work. The burning flickers and catches at the base of my throat. The nightmares
—
the random flashbacks
—
not being able to sleep without the bathroom light on
—
the mornings I don
’
t want to get out of bed. Too many things I would have to explain.

There
’
s no way this would work.

I stop and cross my arms over my chest.
“
Remember when I told you that I was all kinds of fucked up?
”

She nods.

“
I wasn
’
t joking. I
’
ve never lived with anyone other than my family and well
—
that didn
’
t turn out well.
”

She stares at me and then shrugs.

“
If I don
’
t take my anti-depressants I go ape-shit.
”

“
I have nightmares.
”

“…
I do too.
”

“
I may try to push you away.
”

She pulls a strand of her rainbow hair forward and runs her fingers through it.

“
I
’
ve been labeled clingy.
”

“
I have a very deep need for perfectly clean living spaces.
”

“
I haven
’
t cleaned my bathroom in three months.
”
I blanch and she laughs.
“
My dad has a cleaning service come once a week. Relax.
”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I peek at her in between fingers.

“
I can
’
t believe I
’
m actually thinking about this.
”

She throws her hands up in the air and squeals. Before I can say another word, she does a back flip
—
a
back flip
—
and then rushes at me with a hug. A group behind us lighting a bonfire starts whooping and hollering and applauding. I just stand there, awkwardly patting her back.

“
I knew you
’
d say yes!
”

“
I actually haven
’
t yet? And you have to stop. I think those people assume you just proposed.
”

I feel her laugh vibrate against my chest. She pushes away and holds on to my arms.
“
Oh no. No. You can
’
t get out of this one, Stephanie. You
’
re staying in a hotel and I just offered you free room and board and a kick-ass friendship and no. No. You
’
re not turning it down.
”
She starts shaking her head and I laugh.

“
Is this where the clinginess comes in? Because
…”

She gives me her middle finger again.

“
I
’
m becoming well acquainted with that finger today. Shall I name it?
”

“
It means I love you.
”

“
Oh really?
”

She nods.
“
Yep.
”
Reaching forward, she grabs my hand.
“
Now come on. We have poems to discover and a condo to decorate.
”

We walk back toward the stairs, a chorus of
congratulations!
following us. Jessa throws her hand up and waves at them.

“
Thanks! She
’
s going to be the best roommate
ever.
”
She responds.

I let my hair out of its ponytail in order to cover sections of my face otherwise exposed. I look back at the group and they
’
ve moved on past our conversation and are huddled together under blankets, roasting marshmallows.

I focus again on the path in front of us and whisper.

“
Okay, Jess. If we
’
re going to live together, you need to know I hate attention. Like
…
.
hate.
I
’
d just rather be invisible.
”

She scoffs.
“
Nonsense. Everyone needs to be the center of attention now and again.
”
Smiling, she tucks strands of hair behind her ears. She moves to link arms with me and I welcome the exchange of hands for arms.

Much less personal.

“
Shall we go get our poems?
”
She asks as we make our way through the crowds of people leaving before sunset.

“
Check yes.
”
I mutter, suddenly anxious to get back to the condo and behind a window. Having a see-through barrier between me and this mass exodus seems really appealing.

Chapter Nine

Poet guy is just finishing up a piece when we arrive at his table. He looks up and smiles, handing us each a sheet of paper.

“
These were fun to write. I
’
m glad you stopped by today. I was having a bit of a block with some of the other words.
”

Jessa returns the smile and takes her paper. I grab mine from his other hand and read the words. My poem is short, but packs the punch of a thousand decibels.

My heart is a golden burning

reaching toward the wild unknown

of longing.

Liberty? Freedom?

Perhaps maybe one day
—
when the darkness

closes around me and the night

hides even the brightest of prayer.

Until then, my heart is a golden burning,

reaching toward the wild unknown.

I look up from my paper, eyes blinking furiously to keep the tears from falling.

“
This is beautiful.
”

Jessa grunts her agreement.
“
Listen to mine.
”
Her voice fills the silence around us, melodic and falling into rhythm immediately. My eyes flicker to the poet and he has his eyes closed
—
a faint smile gracing his lips.

What does an emotion sound like

when it cracks and burns?

The faded hope left unwanted

and buried in the heap of dreams

jangling from the wolf
’
s mouth.

What does it sound like when

Fear grows feral and snarls quick

and fierce, snapping at love in the

jagged way of grief ripping

at wounds?

What does an emotion sound like

when it believes in the fairy tale
—

swooning and gorging on the fields

too empty to roam?

Maybe it sounds like the rat-tat-tat

of the keys when typing or the

slap-clap-slap of the haka warrior

banging on his knees

Or maybe it
’
s just a whisper,

quiet on the breeze.

She clears her throat and blinks away the tears collecting within her own eyes as she glances up and offers the poet a slight shake of her head. Placing her hand on her heart, she whispers quietly.

“
This is perfect. I mean it.
”

She sniffs and wipes at her cheeks.

“
Do you have any work up at the Poetry House?
”

His eyes light up and he slaps his knees.

“
I do! I don
’
t know very many people who know about that place. You go there often?
”

“
It
’
s my boyfriend
’
s favorite spot. He likes to take me there for inspiration in song writing. What
’
s your name? I
’
ll try and look for your stuff next time we
’
re there.
”

“
My name
’
s Fitzgerald. You
’
ll note the poems by the
Fitz
at the end.
”

Jessa looks at me.
“
The Poetry House is this place where poetry is written on the walls. Every once in a while there will be a concert there or some type of massive pot-luck picnic. It
’
s an abandoned building. Total antithesis of what we saw the other day. Every time I go it leaves me breathless.
”

I nod. It
’
s really the only thing I can do, my mind still stuck on the words of these poems and the ache billowing inside.

“
Anyway.
”
Jessa folds her paper and sticks it in her purse, giving Fitz a slight wave before turning away.
“
You ready to head home?
”

“
Yeah.
”

I swallow. Put one foot in front of the other.
My heart is a golden burning
on repeat like the worst kind of broken record vibrating against my bones.

We walk for a few minutes, passing buildings that look haunted with the glow of the sun behind us. I can feel the darkness snaking its way through my veins and know that it
’
s only a matter of time before it takes over completely. I need to be alone.